


Through the Ages

by Twobit_scribbles



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic, Sinbad no Bouken - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Ficlets, Fighting, Fluff, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twobit_scribbles/pseuds/Twobit_scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Sinja week 2015</p><p>Snapshots of Sinbad and Ja'far's relationship through the ups and downs, through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for up to chapter 31 or so for Sinbad no Bouken/The Adventures of Sinbad
> 
> This fic kind of ties in with another one of mine called “Sindria’s Best Kept Secret”. Reading that isn’t required for you to get this fic, but please check it out if you’re interested! (Blatant plea for attention.)
> 
> Warning for baby assassin!Ja’far’s potty mouth.

First Promises

Their first few weeks at sea are…interesting to say the least. Hinahoho and Rurumu are in the midst of wedded bliss, taking their first steps together as husband and wife. Sinbad generally didn’t seek them out. No one needed to walk in on their, ahh, private moments. 

Two of the former assassins have been _twitchy_ to say the least. The big one is quiet, an intimidating trait in someone his size, but he completes the tasks set to him. The tall one is skittish, scanning the seas with nervous eyes, but he practically jumps on any scrap of affection thrown his way. 

One ex-assassin however, has been conspicuously absent from the deck as of late. There aren’t too many rooms in their small ship, so Sinbad sets out in search of him (keeping away from the honeymoon suite of course).

“Ja’far?” He calls, sticking his head into the third doorway of the day. And immediately ducking to avoid the object thrown at his head. A snarl of “fuck off, moron,” swiftly follows it. 

He goes in anyway. It doesn’t take much more than a glance to find him. Ja’far is already glaring up at him from where he’s pressed up against the corner, in the perfect vantage point to the door. Rurumu had finally managed to confiscate his bandages, so Sinbad is graced with the full force of the little assassin’s sneer. The newly uncovered freckles make it almost adorable. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, such language Ja’far!” Sinbad says, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “What would Lady Rurumu say?” 

“Like I give a shit what that ugly hag thinks,” Ja’far sneers. 

One long-suffering look to the heavens later, Sinbad crosses the room and plops down next to the boy. Ja’far twitches, his blades dropping into his hands. Sinbad keeps his body still, refusing to be intimidated. “I know you’re having a hard time adjusting, but staying cooped up in here won’t help.” 

An annoyed huff is all he gets in reply. 

“Back then….” He pauses, his mind drifting back to the fateful dungeon encounter, the terrified look in the little assassin’s eyes as purple liquid pours from his eyes and mouth, the enormous black beast, the desperate battle, the glimpses of the true, lonely, scared boy under the murderer’s mask. All of those events from just a few weeks ago suddenly feel as if they happened mere moments ago. Ja’far won’t look at him. 

He takes a deep breath, and continues on. 

“Back then I told you that I would give you somewhere to belong. If you stay with me, I promise you that there will always be a place for you by my side. But in order to follow me, you can’t keep yourself locked up like this. Change is never easy, but you don’t have to go through it alone.” 

Gathering his courage, he reaches a hand out to gently turn Ja’far’s chin toward him. The assassin glowers, but doesn’t strike out at him. “I need you to promise me that you’ll do your best, Ja’far. Promise me, and let’s start this journey together.”

For a moment he’s sure that he sees hope in Ja’far’s eyes. Then the boy snorts, rolling his eyes and pointedly looking away. 

Ah, well. He’s pretty sure Ja’far won’t kill him.

Ja’far almost jumps out of his skin. “THE FUCK ARE YOU-“ Sinbad is _draping_ himself all over him, _nuzzling_ his cheek. “GET THE HELL OFF ME FATASS.”

“Nope, I won’t.”

“I’LL KILL YOU! GET OFF!”

“Promise me first,” Sinbad drawls lazily, wrapping his arm around the boy’s waist and _squeezing_. “ Promise me, oh dearest subordinate of mine~” The ‘subordinate’ struggles against him, but Sinbad’s arms are bound too tightly for him to escape.

“FINE, DAMMIT!” 

“I want to hear you say it~” Sinbad says, mirth dripping from every word. The little assassin is squirming in his arms and glaring knives at him, cursing a blue streak under his breath. Sinbad gives him is best charming grin.

Suddenly, Ja’far stills and stares at Sinbad with narrowed eyes. He’s not glaring anymore; rather, he looks like he’s assessing his new master, sizing him up. Sinbad feels the smile slip off his face as he meets Ja’far’s stare head on, unblinking. 

“Heh. Fine, I promise,” he finally states, lifting his head to look his nose down at Sinbad, and giving him a wry smirk. “But don’t get used to it. I won’t just give my word every time you beg for it.”

Sinbad nods, almost solemnly.

“Now get off me, you heavy fucker.”

“But you’re so comfy~”

“FUCK OFF ALREADY!”

IOI

Neither of them had any way of knowing that years later, they would make another, much more eternal promise to each other under the watch of a dying priest. 


	2. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't think up a creative title. This one takes place sometime in a future SnB timeline. I picture Ja’far as around 15, and Sin as around 19.

At first, he doesn’t remember much about the battle. All he knows upon waking is pain. Then the world is erupting into sound and flashes of color, voices calling his name, and it all comes back to him. He remembers seeing the trajectory of the blade, and realizing its intended target couldn’t see it coming, couldn’t avoid the blow. He remembers running, bringing up his own blade up to block, and pain, pain, pain and yelling, and darkness. 

Suddenly his body is moving, bowing upwards as his eyes desperately seeking him out. Hands are all over him, pushing him down, voices are telling him to calm down, stay still but they don’t understand, _theydon’tunderstand._  
At some point he realizes that he’s yelling, “Is he…. is he alright? Is he-“ 

And then he finally sees him. That pale face and those precious dark eyes, so wide and scared. _Thank Solomon, thank-_

|o|

The next time Sinbad wakes, his head is a bit clearer. Rurumu spares no detail describing just how close he’d come to dying. The gash in his side wasn’t long, but it was deep, and it had taken everything the best healer they could find had to keep him alive.

Ja’far has not returned to his bedside. 

When he’s regained enough strength he returns to the company floor. And spends the next day accepting the sympathy of well-wishers and fending off Vittel’s relieved tears. After reassuring the majority of his employees that he’s not going to die, he goes to seek out the company of his friend. But he is swiftly turned away.

At first he thinks Ja’far truly is a busy as he claims. He is always surrounded by other paper-pushers, and he is always engrossed in some task or another. But after the dozenth time he’s turned from the man’s door

Finally it hits him. Ja’far is avoiding him. Ja’far is angry with him. 

This is nothing like the usual outbursts of temper he’s grown used to over the years. This is not a bout of irritation over something he’d done wrong. And for the life of him, he can’t figure out what it was he’d done that was bad enough to warrant this kind of reaction. 

It takes him a few days, but he finally corners him in his office. 

“You’re a hard man to catch alone theses day,” He says as a greeting, trying to keep his tone casual. 

“ Yes, well I’ve been rather busy as of late, what with the head of our company being out of commission.” Ja’far replies coolly, not deigning to glance up from the scroll he’s working on. 

“Ah, well. It couldn’t be helped.” 

That earns him Ja’far’s attention in the form a muted glare. “It was entirely avoidable.” He says, 

Sinbad’s confusion swiftly turns to annoyance. “Sure, it was absolutely uncalled-for. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You’re angry that I save you’re life?” 

“No. I am angry because you took an unnecessary, stupid risk and almost got killed because of it.” That anger is beginning to leak into the voice. In one swift move, Ja’far is up from his desk and turning the full force of his glower on his master. 

“Would you have done the same?” Sinbad demands, “If the sword had been pointed at me, would you have taken the blow?”

“Dammit Sin! Of course I would!” 

“And how is that any different?” Sinbad roars, almost nose-to-nose with the younger man at this point, shaking with rage at Ja’far’s hypocrisy. 

“Because I am your subordinate!” Ja’far finally snaps, his already frayed patience reaching its end. “Like it or not, my life is less valuable than yours. Don’t you understand how important you are, Sin?”

He sweeps an arm out, gesturing around the empty office. “This company would fall apart without you! Think about what would happen to Vittel or Mistoras, or any of the hundreds of people who rely on you! Those hundreds of lives are resting upon your shoulders! If your dream is successful, then thousand, even hundreds of thousands of lives with be in your hands! You can’t throw all that away for one person, Sin! You just can’t!” 

But Ja’far is so much more than a mere subordinate. He was the one to snap him out of his despair all those years ago. He was the one beside him everyday, working to build up the company they have now. He’s one of the few people in the world to stay with him after all they’d been through. He is the only one he could count on to speak to him truthfully. He is his hardest worker, his most loyal follower, his best friend. 

“Enough,” Sinbad say. His hand moves up to grab the young man, needing to catch him, hold him still and explain to him why he simply can’t lose him. But Ja’far will not receive his touch. He jerks away quickly, before neatly turning on his heel, his head held high, like he’d intended every move. “It’s time that you accept your role, Sinbad,” is the parting shot he gives before he disappears down the hallway. 

Sinbad listens to the clack of his swift, precise steps, until the sound fades into the distance.

|o|

Ja’far avoids him for days afterword, and Sinbad lets him, too busy repeating the arguments over and over in his head. But they couldn’t avoid each other forever. Soon enough, Ja’far comes to his master’s desk with a missive.

Sinbad captures his wrist, before he can retreat, 

“Look out for yourself Ja’far,” is the flat statement. “That’s an order. I can’t afford to lose you.” _I can’t lose you._

“As you wish, Sin,” Ja’far replies. He tugs his wrist free, but pauses, letting out a slow breath through his nose. Slowly, he reaches for Sinbad’s hand, taking in in his own. He rubs his thumb across the back of that hand, an awkward, unsure gesture of affection, and says, “As long as you are looking out for yourself too. You are a most troublesome lord to follow sometimes.”

Their eyes meet briefly, and all Sinbad wants to do is envelope the man in his arms and never let go again. But for now he will be content with the small smile on Ja’far’s face, the lingering concern and relief in his eyes, and the touch of his calloused hands.

|o|

The wound heals, as most do. It leaves a scar that for once, Sinbad’s vanity will suffer. Because no matter what Ja’far says, he would not change a thing. He would do it again in a heartbeat to keep that man by his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not good with grand displays of loving affection, even in real life. Ooooh we’ve worked our way up to brief handholding, it’s getting spicy in here! Its not so much sinja as it is sinja in progress. This one was kind of rushed, but hey, deadlines. Dialogue is still a bitch. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!
> 
> Edit-can't figure out why, but for me, the notes from chapter one are showing up below these notes. If you have any troubleshooting advise, it would be appreciated~


	3. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short one today. This is pure speculation on the infamous Parthevia incident that is mentioned several times in Magi, most recently in chapter 286. Mostly I’m using the little bit of info from chapter 79 and 122 as a jumping off point, but references to 286 will be made, so spoiler warning! 
> 
> Also, warning for mentions of major and minor character death, and discussion of a war torn city.

They had lost so much so quickly. 

Their promising fledgling city had been reduced to rubble. Fires are still burning; smoke is still hanging in the air. Bodies still line the damaged streets. Sindrian citizens, once refugees seeking sanctuary and protection in Sinbad’s land are reliving the nightmare of war they had fled. 

So many people. So many of the people he’d worked with, adventured with, suffered with, laughed with, and struggled along side are just _gone_. Vittel, Mahad, Seradine, Mistoras… _Rurumu_. Dead and gone forever, and for what? 

Hinahoho is inconsolable, and barley has the energy to face his own children, much less the whole of Sindria. Drakon and Ja’far are doing their best to help the people, but there is only so much that they can do. 

And there is so much to be done. His people need food, clean water, and shelter, basics of survival. They need healers; their own are stretched too thin, and the sick and injured are dying everyday. They need security; panicked, desperate citizens doing whatever they cold to survive could lead to more casualties. Opportunistic bandits could be picking them off right now. They need a strong leader to alleviate their fears, to provide for them, to guide them. 

Now, when his people most need him, he can’t face them. He’s failed them, failed them, all. How could he have made such a terrible mistake? His dreams are lying shattered on the ground, taking the lives of people he loves with them. And why? So his naïve delusion could become a reality? So he could indulge in a childish power fantasy? 

He can hardly even think straight anymore. Rukh is churning, painfully _twisting_ inside him, so wrong, wrong, wrong, heavy and dark and suffocating. None of his djinn are responding his calls. And he could swear that he can hear someone, something, faintly whispering n the back of his head. He can barely move from his makeshift shelter, much less lead anyone. 

A noise draws his eyes to the entrance of the tent. Ja’far is standing there, dirty and injured, but with a determined look on his face. Sinbad feels himself tense. Half of him expects that Ja’far is here to fulfill the promise he made years ago and kill him. The other half is terrified of what his subordinate will say. He’s failed so horribly, he knows, but he can’t bear to hear it from Ja’far’s mouth. He closes his eyes and hangs his head, unable to face him, bracing for the lecture he’s sure to receive. 

It never comes. Instead, he feels a pair of slim arms wrapping around his back, and he’s drawn against a warm chest. Ja’far is holding him.

At first, Sinbad can only sit there and be held. But then he’s throwing his arms around Ja’far, pulling him closer, clinging to him like a port in a storm. He’s burying his face in the crook of his neck and sobbing like a child. And to his surprise, he feels the young man in his arms shaking, and something wet is dripping onto his shoulder. 

When Sinbad can finally pry himself away, Ja’far is looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. God he’s so young, so afraid, but he’s still here. He’s still putting on a brave face, still going out and working. Still serving his country as best he can. 

“Get up, Sinbad.” He says, “You have to get up. “

|o|

It takes years, but eventually Sindria stands again. But the scars from that day stay with them for long, long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider Rurumu a major character in SnB (she's my favorite besides Ja'far) 
> 
> God, so many future SnB fics! I swear, the majority of this fic is going to be jossed in like a year. All the way up to hugging now, is it getting hot in here, or is it just me? Like I said, mostly sinja in progress for now. Tomorrow’s fic will be much happier, I promise!


	4. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m too lazy to think up a better title. Again, future SnB timeline, but no real spoilers here.

It had taken them a long time to get here. Years of rebuilding, consultations with allies, behind the scenes negotiations, and regaining the trust of the people. Lots of blood, sweat, and even tears, but looking around at Sindria now makes it all worth it. 

The city is restored to far better than anyone had ever dreamed. The fields are heavy with crops. The harbors are crowded with trade ships. A powerful king, his skilled generals, and a solid network of allies support it all. And what better way to show that might, that defensive strength? No senseless sea beast would best them now. 

The whole of Sindria is lit up, with the massive bonfires, colorful lanterns, and even fireworks. The city is filled with the sounds of music, laughter, and revelry. Food in plenty, in all manner of variety spills forth from stalls of every shape and size. 

Sindrian citizens are flooding the streets, adorned with mask, and wreaths and bracelets of sweet-smelling flowers. People from Artemyra, Parthevia, Imucakk, Heliohapt, Sasan, and so many other countries. Merchants, soldiers, farmers, fishermen, bankers, dancers and craftspeople of all kinds. Men and women, young and old, able and disabled, richer and poorer, all gathered here in celebration, singing, and laughing, and dancing in the street….Marhrajan! 

Sinbad is flushed with pride, excitement, and wine. Down in the thick of it, mingled in with the people, he laughs and dances along with them. Scattered nearby, his generals, new and old, blend with the crowd. As the music fades and the crowd cheers the band, Sinbad bids his latest dance partner farewell, looking around for one person in particular. 

It takes him a while, but he finally spots Ja’far nursing a drink in a darkened corner. He almost calls out, but he notices something that stops him for a second. Ja’far is smiling, truly smiling for the first time in a long time.

The music is picking back up again, so, emboldened by drink and adrenaline, Sinbad sidles up to his advisor. He bows deeply, offering up his hand and putting on his most charming smile “May I have this dance?”

On any other day, Ja’far would refuse. He would say that would be inappropriate for a king to dance with his subordinate. He would put up a front of irritation at being dragged into the public eye. He would shrug the offer off and retreat to the quiet of his private office. 

But today, he simply doesn’t care.

He can’t suppress his smile while he folds his hands and bows, “As you wish. My king,” he says, taking the proffered hand.  
Surprised, but delighted, Sinbad grabs Ja’far’s hand and almost lifts the poor man off the ground in his excitement. The audience cheers as their king presents his new dance partner. Ja’far gives him a half-glare of annoyance, but bows to his king again and is promptly lifted off is feet again. 

The music is slow at first, but the tempo builds and builds the king and his advisor spin, leap, and twist along with the beat. At some points it seems less like a dance and more like a spar, elegant and deadly, but tightly controlled. Finally, the song ends, leaving Sinbad and Ja’far panting in each other’s arms. 

As the music changes, Hinahoho raises a glass in another toast. In the ensuing uproar, Sinbad pulls Ja’far aside, ducking into the relative privacy of a darkened alleyway. They fall against each other, laughing breathlessly. 

Sinbad never wants this moment to end. The warm weight of Ja’far pressed against him feels so good, so right. Slowly, he leans down and rests his forehead against his advisor’s brow. 

The moment is finally broken when Ja’far pulls back. Sinbad feels a flash of disappointment, before he realizes that Ja’far is slowly tilting his lips up towards him, his eyes locked on his king’s, silently asking permission. Sinbad ducks his head a little deeper and closes his eyes, his heart racing with anticipation. He almost jumps when he feels the soft, unsure press of lips against his own.

Sinbad has been kissed many, many times in his life. But for some reason, this, hesitant, inexperienced kiss is special. Because it’s Ja’far. Because it has always been Ja’far. He wraps his arms around his advisor’s waist, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. 

Neither of them really knows what they’re getting into, what this will mean for them, or even when they will let go of each other. But for now, basking in the glow of the festival lights, everything is right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised it would be happy~ First kiss! Oh god describing it was hard, and it feels a bit awkward to me. I wanted Ja’far to initiate because…I wanted him to. 
> 
> BTW, notice how these fics are getting posted later and later? Well now I’m home for the week, and I wont have much time to work on the rest of the days. Because of poor planning, they will be late, sorry!


	5. Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve given up on better titles. Still pre-Magi SnB era, but no spoilers.

Even in a young, flourishing country like Sindria, Death still knocks at the doors of the rich and poor alike. The young are still taken to soon; the old are still inevitable swept away by time. And one by one, each is cremated on the shores of their country, their ashes scattered to the winds and the sea. 

The people say that the rukh of their loved ones bring gentle rain to their crops, calm seas and favorable winds to their ships, and abundant fish to their nets. 

And like with most other things, Sindria addresses death with a festival. But this festival is not the usual fare of spectacle, but rather more a muted affair.

Throughout the day, business goes about much as usual. But a melancholy feeling hangs in the air. The people wear small stone totems bearing the names of those they’ve lost, around their necks. Shops on every corner sell wreaths of flowers and floating candles. 

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, the sound of gongs ring out from the palace, and a hush falls over the town. Then King Sinbad himself appears at the palace gate, and begins the slow decent to the street, flanked first by his head advisor, and followed closely by his other generals. Behind them, a procession of scribes, lawmakers, soldier and magicians begins to form. As the somber march continues on through the city, more and more citizens join the ranks.

The procession stops at last as they reach the shoreline, and the king stands with his generals as their people stream past them towards the sea. Floating candles and lanterns, wreathes of flowers, and scattered petals, are all offered to the ocean, one by one, by every man, woman, and child. The offerings keep coming until the sea filled with light and color.

The strong, clear voice of their king finally breaks the spell of silence. 

“To the soldiers who gave their lives protecting Sindria and all of her people. To the fishermen and women, lost at sea. To the mothers and fathers, sisters and brother, taken from their families. To the children who brought us such joy, taken from us too soon. To the elders who shared their time and wisdom with us. To all who have graced the shores of this country. To all who have given us their time, their energy, and their love. To all those who have left us behind, we offer our sincerest thanks.

But our debt of gratitude is great, and cannot be paid by simple appreciation. So know this; wherever you may be, as long as a single person draws breath in Sindria, you will not be forgotten.

We will keep you alive in our hearts and in our memories, in the stories we tell to our children, and in the way we live our lives. And though we are apart now, soon we shall be reunited in the Great Flow of the Rukh. Until then, we ask that you send us your blessings. 

Help us to remember our past, so that we may make a better, brighter future for us all. “

As he finishes his speech, he folds his hands, and bows deeply. Soon, everyone scattered along the beach, from the richest king, to the poorest laborer is bowing their heads and hearts toward the open sea. 

After a long moment of silence, the moment is broken. The head advisor produces two Sindrian flowers from his spacious sleeves, and hands one to his king. Sinbad raises the flower high, and lets the strong breeze carry it to the sea as his advisor does the same. 

The beach slowly empties and the citizens unhurriedly walk towards their homes. Soon, the restaurants will open, and tonight all will be welcomed inside, no one will be turned away from a hot meal and a warm drink. For tonight is a night of doors kept open, to welcome in friends and family alike. Tonight is a night of stories shared around dinner tables and over mugs of ale. Tonight is a night of laughing through tears, and smiling through heartache. Tonight Sindria will celebrate the lives of the ones they have lost, and cherish the living all the more.

Unnoticed by the retreating crowd, the king rests his hand on his advisor’s lower back. 

Tonight they will join their generals in the cozy warmth of a small tavern. They will laugh and drink as they listen to the tales the young ones tell. They will commiserate with their older friends, and tell their own stories of the companions they lost so long ago. They will remember and honor all those who could not be here to share their table. 

But after the food and the drink and the story-telling, they will retreat to the king’s private room. For tonight they will touch each other softly, and hold each other tightly. Tonight they will press their hand to each other’s chests, and feel each other’s hearts beating strong and true. Tonight Sinbad will gradually trail light fingers over every inch of Ja’far. And tonight Ja’far will caress Sinbad’s face, and kiss him slowly and sensually. 

Tonight they will make love slowly, savoring every touch, every moan, every whisper of pleasure. 

Both of them know that someday, one of them may have to say their final goodbye to the other on the shores of the country they built. But tonight, they will lie in each other’s arms and listen to the sound of their intermingled breathing, and treasure the time that is given to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That goddamn “I’m gonna love you like I’m gonna lose you” song is stuck in my head. That and “Heaven (Candlelight Mix)” which someone made a heartbreaking Sinja amv to. Ack. This was all purely made up, loosely based on Dunya’s funeral from chapter 119. I didn’t do any research, so any connection to other cultures is either half-remembered, or coincidental (it’s not like this was unique, groundbreaking stuff). Anyway, little taste of bittersweet sinja for the lovely people following this. I don’t know when the next chapter will come up, this week is going to be busy. Sorry again for my poor planning!

**Author's Note:**

> Sinbad’s speech is based off the one he made in chapter 27 of SnB. Oh God, dialogue is such a pain in the ass. Defiantly not one of my strengths. But I did have a good time writing baby!Ja’far’s potty mouth~ I actually attempted something sort of funny this time, oh dear. Let me know what you think~


End file.
